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Julie caught sight of me. “No. Sloane, wait. You can’t keep going in.”

“I’ll find him!” I entered again. The smoke had thinned, but enough remained to turn the hallway gray. “Caldwell!”

No answer.

I climbed the stairs. Each step pulled at muscles already close to failure. The hallway above held more smoke because the windows were closed.

I opened the first bedroom. Empty.

Second. Empty.

“Caldwell!”

A faint sound came from the final room. Not words. Wheezing.

I pushed the door open. His room appeared empty at first. The bed was unmade. Drawings covered one wall. A cup of pencils had overturned across the floor. Then I saw a foot beneath the bed.

I dropped down.

Caldwell had wedged himself against the wall, both hands over his mouth. His eyes were wide with terror.

“Oh, thank God.”

He stared at me. His breathing came in short, strained pulls.

I reached beneath the bed. “Come here.”

He shook his head.

“It’s okay. I’m taking you outside.”

Another shake.

He pressed himself farther toward the wall.

I understood.

The house had filled with smoke. People collapsed. Noise, glass, strangers shouting outside. His safest response had been to hide.

I lowered myself fully to the floor. “You don’t have to come out fast,” I said. “But we have to leave.”

His eyes stayed locked on mine.

“You know me.”

He blinked.

“I’m Sloane.”

Pain moved through the admission.

“Just Sloane,” I said. “No wolf. No Loany. No stories.”

His fingers lowered slightly from his mouth.

“I lied to you.”

His eyes filled.